


Playing-

by siriuslyuptonogood



Series: Sergeant Barnes and his Captain [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Corporal Punishment, Dom/sub, M/M, Past Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyuptonogood/pseuds/siriuslyuptonogood
Summary: Sometimes Bucky looks at an implement and feels the desire to hide it. Not in an effort to be particularly badly behaved, but because it sounds like fun. And if he gets spanked for it? Well, that's just the way it goes sometimes.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Sergeant Barnes and his Captain [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621582
Comments: 28
Kudos: 324





	Playing-

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please know that I am, in no way, saying that Sam Wilson is a bad dom. Because he isn't. He and Bucky just were not a match in this department. I love Sam. Bucky loves Sam. We're gonna do right by Sam in this house. 
> 
> Also time has no meaning. This is technically the 4th part I've written but the second I'm posting.

Bucky learns pretty quick that his favorite part of everything is after all is said and done and Steve smiles at him like he’s perfect. In any other moment, Bucky wouldn’t take it. He’d look away or he’d argue. In the past, it’s made him mad. Because he doesn’t think he deserves to be looked at like that. He lets everyone down eventually. But Steve has a way of pushing everything bad out of him giving him these moments where he can just fucking relax.

When Bucky closes his eyes, though, he sees Sam and it feels like someone has shoved a hand into his abdomen and caught a large handful of his insides for a good squeeze.

Sam never smiled like Steve does after a scene. And the thing is that Bucky knows it’s bad to compare the two of them. Steve isn’t a better Dom than Sam was. He’s just better _for_ Bucky. And anyone else would have been better for Sam.

Bucky remembers looking up at Sam after the first time they scened together. Sam got Bucky down, but just barely. And he’d looked so fucking exhausted after like it’d taken everything out of him. And he’d just comforted Bucky, combed his fingers through his hair, kissed his forehead, but he’d fallen asleep before Bucky could fully come up. He hadn’t meant to. Felt so fucking guilty about it for days because he’d woken up to a shivering Bucky all curled up underneath the covers. It was just the first time. And he’d underestimated how much energy it would take to put Bucky down but as soon as he’d said that, he froze, eyes wide, apologies falling from his mouth while Bucky escaped. Didn’t talk to him for three days until Sam showed up with pizza and beer. He _liked_ Bucky, didn’t mean to make him feel like he was too much.

“I am too much,” Bucky said quietly, looking down at his hands.

Sam cupped his chin and lifted his head. “Just enough. New relationships are about learning how the other person works. We just got a lot to learn, you and me.” Sam kissed him first, but Bucky was hungry for it, had been pining for months.

They met after Bucky got shot in Iraq in his right arm. It’d been his own damn fault and made him angry. Took him off active duty for damn near six months while he healed and did PT. The bullet had gone all the way through but tore some shit up along the way. He ended up being ordered to attend some group therapy sessions to help with the anger. Sam led them, offered to take him out for a beer a few months in and Bucky was gone. He’d had a drop partner who could mostly get him there, enough that it took the edge off, so it wasn’t something he’d considered when falling for Sam… well until he offered.

Sam was a level eight. Bucky could go down for a level eight. He was sure of it.

They learned how they worked quickly and fully. Dated, fell hard and fast. Sam’s kisses felt like nothing Bucky’d ever experienced before. He never wanted to stop. He could let Sam straddle and kiss him for hours, spend whole afternoons like that. Sam pulled him out of his comfort zone, made him try new foods, new places, new experiences. He was the first boyfriend Bucky took home to his ma and she’d tried to feed him so much turkey he thought Sam might explode. Sam’s mama did the same when they went to visit for Christmas. Bucky was sure he’d have to be rolled to bed that night. Sam was everything Bucky had ever wanted. Except…

Bucky could see how it wore on Sam to take him down. It never got any easier. Bucky would try to be better. He tried to be docile. He held his tongue. That was the only thing he did that made Sam spitting mad. Because he _knew_ Bucky. Knew he was a brat and a fighter, and he had a response to almost everything. Even though it frustrated him, Sam wouldn’t let him be anything else. How many times had he assured Bucky that everything was fine? That he was happy?

One day in late May, Bucky got to the apartment they shared. Well, it was Sam’s. Bucky still technically lived in the barracks, but he spent most of his time with Sam. He went to the bedroom and was in the middle of changing out of his uniform when he spotted the hairbrush on top of the dresser. The thing was heavy, wooden, had never been used on anyone’s hair. He picked up. He tapped it against his palm. Then he grinned and hid it under the bed. He finished getting undressed and showered before getting into sweats and a hoodie. Completely forgot about the brush.

Didn’t come up again for a week when Bucky had been a brat all day. They’d been out and Sam had just finally had enough. Marched him right into the apartment and to the bedroom, shoving him into the usual corner.

Bucky hadn’t seen him, had his nose to the corner, but he figured that Sam had gone to pick up the brush to find it wasn’t there.

“Where’s the brush, Bucky?” Sam asked.

Bucky, not allowed to talk or turn around in the corner, followed the rules to a T and shrugged his shoulders.

“Turn around and look at me,” Sam grumbled, and Bucky turned. “Tell me where the brush is.”

“Dunno, sir, you must have misplaced it.”

Sam had just looked at him and it’d made Bucky’s shoulders drop, made him want to sink into himself. Like he’d just had enough of Bucky and his shit. Bucky’d just wanted to _play_.

“Under the bed,” he said quietly. He honestly hadn’t even felt the actual spanking, too caught up in his own head, but then Sam put him in the corner and just left him there for a long time. Maybe to make him think. Maybe because he needed some time. Sam held him after, though, for a long time and Bucky just remembers looking up into his face as if he could see everything he put Sam through. How fucking hard it was on him to be Bucky’s Dom.

When Bucky went to work the next day, he made a decision. He took the day after off and packed all his things up and waited for Sam.

He’d been the one to cry through it. Explained that he just didn’t think they worked. He was just too difficult. He could see how hard it was on Sam. He loved him. So much. That had nothing to do with him leaving. To himself, he knew that had everything to do with him leaving. He couldn’t stay and hurt this man anymore.

“We can work through it. I’ll go… to uh, one of those Dom seminars I always see advertised,” Sam said, taking his hands.

“Sammy,” Bucky said quietly, “You’re a good Dom. You do everything right. I’m not sure I can ever be a good sub for you.”

They kissed once. And it tasted like salt, sadness, and desperation. Bucky left. Few months later, he moved to Germany.

Bucky isn’t really sure what possesses him to hide the spoon. He is just putting the dishes away while Steve is gone. He’s never been alone in Steve’s little apartment before, but he’d quickly gotten tired of sitting by himself, so he decided to be helpful. Which is a weird feeling. He is in his undershirt and briefs, putting dishes away in someone else’s kitchen. Steve had to run take care of some emergency, promising to be back as soon as possible. Bucky puts a wooden spatula away and his fingers gravitate toward the spoon with the wide, shallow bowl. It’s the one Steve always grabs to when he’s going to spank Bucky. Maybe that’s what that one was bought for.

He hides it under the left cushion on the couch and gets back to the dishes.

Steve has food when he comes back. Chinese, which is Bucky’s favorite, and he quickly has Bucky in his lap, feeding him. This is rapidly becoming Bucky’s favorite thing in the whole world. He’s a bit of a princess, okay?

“Thank you for putting the dishes away, sugar,” Steve murmurs, nuzzling him. Bucky closes his eyes, leaning his head back.

“Left me alone. Got bored.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “take my gratitude, brat.”

Bucky blows a raspberry.

“Such an attitude from you today, soldier. I think it’s been too long since you got a good, old-fashioned spanking.”

“Think, sir? You should know, seeing as you were the one doing the spanking,” Bucky replies, “You getting senile on me, Captain?”

Steve laughs and lifts him to his feet. Bucky watches as he takes the empty plate to the sink, and washes it before placing it in the dish drainer. He watches as Steve dries his hands, then leans over to grab the spoon. He watches as Steve’s hand falters. He turns to look at Bucky, one eyebrow raised.

“Bucky, you wanna tell me where my spoon is?” Steve asks. And that’s a question! That’s a fucking question about what he wants! It isn’t an order, a demand. Steve is asking him if he wants to do something. It’s weird and wonderful all at once.

“No, sir, but thank you for asking,” he says, offering a sweet a smile and Steve lets out a laughing puff of air. He turns away again and grabs all of the wooden things. Three spoons, two spatulas and a weird fork-like thing that Bucky is pretty sure is used for salad. He faces Bucky with one hand full of wooden utensils, an almost smirk resting across his mouth.

“Shit,” Bucky says. He’s fucked up.

Bucky finds himself pushed over the table.

“I really like that one,” Steve says as he maneuvers Bucky’s body exactly where he wants it. “Bought it especially to use on brats.” (Bucky fucking KNEW it) “But in its absence, I guess I’m going to have to try these ones out.” Steve seems to change his mind on a position, puts Bucky so his elbows are on the table and his knees are on a chair placed sideways.

“All of them, sir?” Bucky squeaks as he feels his briefs come down. 

“Well, yeah, Buck,” Steve says. “We have to try them out, see which works best before you get your promised spanking. Can’t have you thinking I’m going to beat your ass with subpar instruments.”

Bucky whimpers. The wooden utensils are lined up right next to his arm.

“Wait,” he says after a second. “Before?”

“We have to figure out which is best first,” Steve says, picking up the smallest spoon. He taps it against Bucky’s ass. “Wanna tell me where my spoon is now?”

Bucky huffs. “No, sir. But thanks for asking,” he says again and then yelps as he’s smacked twice on each cheek.

“Thoughts?” Steve asks.

“What?”

“What do you think of this spoon?”

Bucky closes his eyes, letting his head fall so his forehead can rest on the table. “Stings.”

Steve hums and delivers five more swats on each side. It just stings. It’s small and doesn’t pack the thud Bucky likes. He doesn’t seem to have to say that to Steve, though, because he switches to the second spoon and does the same thing, two swats on each side.

Bucky whines and squirms. “Siiiiiir.” It’s uncomfortable, but not enough. The thing is too light, doesn’t give him enough.

“Yeah, I don’t much care for this one either,” Steve says, almost conversationally. He still hits Bucky ten more fucking times before he sets it aside.

The fork-thing is next and wow, Bucky hates it. Steve hits him fast and he cries out like he’s been stung by a fucking bee. He thinks it’s because it’s light and air can get through easy.

“Yuck,” Bucky says between whimpers, starting to squirm.

“Wanna tell me where my spoon is yet?”

Bucky has grown sullen now and turns his head, blowing a raspberry. “No sir, thank you,” he says, trying to keep the bite from his tone.

But Steve gets him with the fork-thing, presses a hand to the small of his back and delivers a handful of swats so fast that Bucky can’t count them. He howls during and then whimpers after, his arms starting to shake.

Steve picks up the last spoon on the table. It has a deeper bowl than the others. Steve seems to look at it and decide otherwise because it joins the no-pile.

The flat spatula Bucky put away earlier is next. Steve taps it against his hand and then against Bucky’s ass.

“This one looks promising,” Steve says. He puts his hand on the small of Bucky’s back like he does when he’s going to hit hard. Steve only hit him twice, one on each side, but it’s hard and Bucky launches himself forward as best he can while under Steve’s hand and howls.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he shouts, “it’s under the couch cushions! Fuck, please sir, your spoon is under the cushions!” And he dissolves into tears.

“Oh, so we like this one,” Steve says, putting it down. He gently rubs his hand across Bucky’s ass. He pulls back and heads into the living room. Bucky glares at the wooden spatula and, in a moment of petulance, pushes it off the table. It clatters to the floor and he hears Steve laugh behind him. Steve stoops, grabs the spatula from the floor.

“Open,” he says, coming around to Bucky’s front.

Bucky looks up at him, tears running down his cheeks. “Sir,” he says, “Please.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and Bucky opens, letting the spatula handle be slid into his mouth. He bites down. His swears come out garbled.

Steve taps the spoon against his ass. “Ah, yes. This really is the perfect spoon for this sort of thing,” he decides. “You know the rules, you drop it, we start over. How many, you think?”

Bucky makes a soft, grumbling sound. He knows Steve already has a number in mind. Besides, he can’t talk! There is a spatula handle in his mouth. He bites down hard, hopes it leaves indents forever.

“I think twenty is good.” And it’s so funny to Bucky. Funny is… perhaps not the right word for right now. Because he’s sore and crying and has the wooden handle of a spatula between his teeth, but if those things weren’t happening, then he would definitely have to say that it was funny that Steve talks like Bucky’s part of the conversation. Even when he obviously cannot speak. It makes Bucky just want to roll his eyes.

The spoon comes down against his ass and Bucky keeps his mouth tight on the handle. He isn’t going to drop it, no sir. Not this time. Steve does it again and again and it fucking hurts and Bucky is actively crying now, but still managing to keep ahold of the spatula. He has to admit that this is the superior spoon, though. It’s heavy and doesn’t sting. It’s a different sort of feeling, like being slowly set on fire, a heavy pain with a spreading warmth. Smaller, whippy things were sharper and didn’t make him warm in the same way. He has found that he prefers the slow build and damn does this man do it well.

Suddenly the spoon comes down on his inner thigh and Bucky shouts. The spatula falls. Bucky sobs. “That one _hurt._ ”

“Supposed to hurt, sugar,” Steve replies. “Besides, wouldn’t have hit you there if you were paying attention to me. I asked your color three times.”

“Green. M’green. But now you’re gonna start over. And put the dumb spatula back in my mouth. Still green, but I hate it.”

“That’s the plan, but I’ll barter with you.”

Bucky lets out a wet laugh. “sounds dangerous.” He sniffles softly, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes.

“Spatula goes in the sink.”

“for what?”

“Double with this spoon here.” Steve taps him with the previously hidden spoon.

Bucky glances back to look at him. “I’m gonna die,” he says.

“You’re being dramatic, sugar. I wouldn’t kill ya. You’re too much fun.”

Snorting, Bucky shifts around a little before setting into the position. “Fun,” he repeats. “I accept.”

Steve sets the spoon across Bucky’s back and grabs the spatula. “There are teeth marks in this.”

“Good.”

“Brat.”

“Jerk. Jerkiest jerk face who’s ever jerked ever.”

Steve laughs, has to stop, rest his hands on the counter and take a minute. The spatula drops into the sink and he goes back to Bucky, who watches him.

“Sir?”

“Yes, soldier?”

“Can I…” Bucky pauses, licking his lips. He’s bad at this part. Asking for what he wants. He feels Steve’s hand move up the back of his shirt and gently rub circles on his skin and it’s almost like he’s telling him to take his time. “Will you…” Bucky huffs. “Wanna be over your lap, sir.”

Steve leaves his warm hand pressed against Bucky’s back, but sets the spoon down so he can run the other’s fingers through the sub’s hair.

“Yeah, sugar, course you can. Come on, up.” Steve pulls gently at his hair, guiding him.

Bucky settles across Steve’s lap easily. This is his favorite position. He feels so fucking safe like this as if nothing in the world can hurt him when he’s across his Captain’s lap. Which is a bit nonsensical as usually Steve _is_ hurting him when Bucky’s over his lap. But it’s different. He likes to grip Steve’s ankle. Sometimes rubs small circles with his thumb against the ankle bone, though only when the boots are off. Getting spanked by the Captain in full uniform is a whole other thing.

“Hand,” Steve says and Bucky throws back his right arm, letting Steve entwine their fingers and press down against the small of his back. A leg is swung over both of his, holding him in place. This is going to fucking hurt.

And God, it does. Steve lets him have it, delivers swat after swat to his already burning skin. Steve seems to be on a mission to cover every inch of Bucky’s ass and thighs, even gets a few on the inner thighs, just like before, but he doesn’t have something to drop this time. Instead, he hangs his head and sobs.

Bucky hears the spoon clatter to the tile floor, but it sounds so far off from where he is now. His briefs come up, making him cry out. A hand grips one thigh and turns him, slides an arm under his knees and across his back, lifts him. Bucky throws an arm around Steve’s neck and presses his face against his collar, crying.

They end up how they always do, Steve laying with his head propped up on pillows, Bucky on his stomach, half on top of him, fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt, face pressed against his neck. He thinks Steve’s bed might be the most comfortable he’s ever been on, but he never thinks about it when he’s not just like this.

And when he starts to come up, when the tears dry, he lifts his head just enough so he can rest his chin on Steve’s chest and look at him, there’s that smile and it’s like looking into the fucking sun. _You’re perfect_ that smile says. And Bucky, for right now, can accept that.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on Tumblr at siriuslyuptonogood!


End file.
